


Much Ado about Mutiny

by Syrena_of_the_lake



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Backstory, Dimension Travel, F/M, Golden Age (Narnia), Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: In which Lucy and Susan go sailing and negotiations go south.<br/>"Lucy," said Susan, valiantly striving to keep her face stern, "I don't think anyone will believe we are men no matter how loose the breeches are. We have breasts." With irrepressible cheer, Lucy strapped on her sword and adjusted her hat to a rakish angle."Bind them!" she said cheerfully. "I've already done mine. Not that I've much to bind, of course. But as you always say, it's best to be thorough."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exultation is the going

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nasimwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasimwrites/gifts).



_Exultation is the going  
Of an inland soul to sea_

\- Emily Dickinson

_"It's like old times," said Lucy. "Do you remember our voyage to Terebinthia - and Galma and Seven Isles and the Lone Islands?  
"Yes," said Susan, "and our great ship, the Splendor Hyaline, with the swan's head at her prow and the carved swan's wings coming back almost to her waist?"_

\- C.S. Lewis, _Prince Caspian_

* * *

History would record the _Splendor Hyaline_ as Peter's project, and indeed the process of shipbuilding suited him well. There wasn't a morn that dawned before the High King was already at the newly constructed pier, poring over schematics and planing wood before the day's work truly began. Peter loved building things, and in truth nearly every new construction in Narnia justly bore his name. The road to Archenland, the ferry at the Fords of Beruna, the aqueduct from the northern slopes to the drought-prone southern flatlands – all were Peter's, and all held a single stone engraved with the two-tiered crown that was his royal symbol.

But for all the time that he spent with the Galman shipbuilders, the Beavers and Otters, Mermaids and Mermen, the _Splendor Hyaline_ did not bear Peter's sigil on her graceful bow. Nor did it carry Edmund's balanced scales (although he spent nearly as much time at the shipyard as his brother) nor even Lucy's shining heart, even though the very idea of a Narnian ship had been conceived for love of her.

History may not remember it, but the _Splendor Hyaline_ and the carven, gold-painted sigil she bore – the palm of an outward facing hand raised as if in greeting or warning – they were Susan's.

For the raven-haired ruler, so-called Barbarian Queen of the North, had ever been both Gentle and firm, welcoming and unyielding, as stately and wild as the sea herself. She would not be remembered as a warrior or explorer, although she had been both. Her legacy would be writ in ink and song, but also in the curve of bow and wave and the faint line where sea met sky. And history mattered little to the sea.

Truthfully, it was something of a relief to Susan that the full story would not be told throughout the ages. Adventures by nature were not terribly dignified, and the genesis of Narnian shipbuilding was even less so than most.

Naturally, as all adventures seemed to do, this one began with Lucy.

After watching her sister slip away after breakfast every morning for weeks, Susan followed her. She found Lucy barefoot (which was no surprise) on the golden sands, scrambling among windworn rocks and laughing spray.

"My feet itch," she explained with a rueful laugh.

Susan placed her own slippers carefully on a flat rock and waded out to join her sister. "It's spring, and we have no travels planned," she said in quiet understanding.

"It's not just that." Lucy skipped a stone out to sea; a floating Otter snagged it mid-skip and waved in thanks before gleefully putting it to use cracking mussels. Lucy waved back.

"You do seem… restless."

"More so than usual, you mean?" Lucy grinned, but her mirth faded quickly. "It just seems the world is getting so _small_ ," Lucy confessed. "And now with Peter's roads and bridges – all very good things," she hastened to add, "but everything is getting closer together. Even the Western Wild is… well, it doesn't seem as wild as it used to be."

_We've grown up_ , thought Susan, but she remained silent. She too had felt the world constricting around her, but instead of roads and bridges, it was scented letters and sly looks and tittering princesses and courtiers looking down their noses at the Barbarian Queen of the North…

It had been a long time since Susan had looked forward to a journey.

"I do wonder what's out there," Lucy sighed wistfully.

The wind stirred Susan's hair, teasing strands out of her braid. Susan bit her lip. She would not run away from her duties, not for her own sake, but… The thought of Lucy, demure and diminished and confined to a world smaller than her dreams – it was not to be borne.

"We could stow away on the Galman ship," Susan jested, half-expecting Lucy would take her seriously.

"Or commandeer it!" Lucy laughed. Her eyes sparkled with a little too much enthusiasm.

"Or," said Susan, and stopped. There were so many other priorities. Funds were sorely limited. They had to equip a caravan for trade along the Sunthatched Road to Calormen. The eastern granaries should be expanded, and the castle roof could use repairs…

"Or?" prompted Lucy.

"We could build a ship."

 

It was not that simple, of course. Being Queen was not sufficient to procure the much-needed expertise and supplies; negotiations were a tedious but necessary evil. Fortunately, the Galmans were not only superb shipbuilders but also had a taste for Narnian wine. The two nations exchanged delegations of vintners for shipbuilders, and construction of a small but serviceable vessel proceeded apace.

It took the Galmans a while to become accustomed to Lucy. Alarmed at first, they entreated her not to climb through the half-constructed hull. Later, they indulgently watched her scale the mast and rigging. Susan suspected they took bets on how quickly she could reach the crow's nest. The Crows that perched at the top of the mast were probably the bookmakers; Susan preferred not to inquire.

With her sister drawing harmless attention, Susan was free to study the plans, tidal charts and navigational tools. From time to time, her brothers joined her; Peter loved carpentry and Edmund loved maps, and of course Lucy was a force of nature unto herself, but Susan's daily presence at the fledgling shipyard flummoxed the Galmans. Why would a woman be interested in such things, they muttered among themselves – and muttered other things, too, that Susan coolly ignored until they began muttering while looking at Lucy from below.

A quiet conversation and a well-placed arrow on a conveniently man-shaped practice target soon put an end to _that_.

Her _pointed_ remarks had the fortuitous side effect of spurring the Galmans to greater speed, helped of course by a veritable army of Narnians. Otters dove beneath the keel to check for leaks; Red Dwarves forged anchor and chains; Fauns and Dryads coaxed the wood to bend and cure and join water-tight; Beavers felled and stripped tall, straight aspens for the foremast. And the Wolves of the Watch, who stood constant guard over their Queens and Kings, acquired a taste for fish.

By summer, the schooner _Foxfire_ was deemed seaworthy. And that was when the whole project ran aground.

The Galman sailors upon whom so much depended balked at the idea of taking a woman aboard – let alone taking orders from one.

"Bad luck," grunted Kraenen, a weatherbeaten old man with hands gnarled like oak branches and a face like a stump. While not the head of the Galman delegation, he was one of their most experienced seamen, and Susan had counted on his guidance for their maiden voyage. She and Lucy had even discussed naming him captain, but now she wondered whether he would accept the honor if bestowed by a mere woman. As Kraenen put it, "Womenfolk don't belong at sea."

"But we've been here all along," exclaimed Susan in exasperation, trying to keep a rein on her temper. "This is Our project, and part of Our bargain with your guildmasters. My sister Queen Lucy and I are to sail with you." Her tone brooked no argument, but Kraenen shook his head.

"That's as may be," he said stubbornly, "but I aren't putting out of harbor with no woman, even if she be a queen. Even if she be _two_ queens." His accent grew stronger in proportion with his agitation.

"Why not?" interrupted Lucy. For once, _she_ was the calm one.

"The Sea's a jealous woman." Kraenen touched his bent, swollen fingers to his heart, tapped twice, turned his head and spat. "She can't abide no other."

Stymied, Susan drew Lucy aside. "Perhaps if you go with Edmund," she suggested in a low voice. "They might accept that. Or with Peter, if it's only a short voyage. Just long enough for _our_ crew to learn." Peter would not thank her for volunteering His Royal Most Seasick Self for the _Foxfire_ 's maiden voyage. He may have loved the process of shipbuilding, but Peter hated boats – at least once they were in the water. The rocking motion of the sea that Susan found so soothing upset her brother's normally stalwart constitution. She had seen him eat the Black Dwarves' heavily spiced cooking without ill effect, but even a day's journey along the coast would likely make the High King lose his lunch.

Fortunately for Peter, Lucy was adamant. "This is _our_ voyage, Susan. You adore the sea. You _must_ come with me. We simply need to find sailors who are less…"

"Traditional?"

"I was going to say hidebound, but yours is more diplomatic, as always." Lucy grinned. "Come on, Susan. Let's go recruiting!"

Unfortunately, as Susan and Lucy soon discovered, the Galmans had a great many traditions.

They would not sail with a woman, which extended to Nymphs and Dryads. They would not allow a goat on board, which meant no Fauns or Satyrs. Some Seabirds were bad luck; so were some mammals, especially if their fur was white – which put Starthroat the Wolf in such a temper that her mate, Frostfoot, volunteered to guard the ship at night rather than sleep on shore. Susan wondered if that particular superstition was a relic of the Witch's Winter. At times she feared it would take another hundred years before the other countries would trust Narnia again.

First Lucy, and then Susan, and finally Peter asked Kraenen to captain the new Narnian ship. The stubborn, stump-faced Galman refused every time. Lucy entreated him. Kraenen spat in the sand. Susan reasoned with him; he spat farther. Peter attempted to order Kraenen to take the post, which Susan could have told her brother was precisely the wrong way of going about it. At that, Kraenen swore a blue streak that he would never set foot on the ship if women were aboard. "Never happen," he grunted. "I'd have to have landlock of the brain."

It was maddening.

In the end, a brash youth called Sendaar volunteered himself for the post of Captain, and that broke the logjam, for it turned out that Kraenen could not abide the thought of a job done poorly – and Sendaar was as feckless a youth as Susan had ever encountered.

After all, it had taken only a few flattering words and fluttering eyelashes to induce the boy to apply for the post in the first place.

It had been Edmund's idea for Susan to use what he called her _feminine wiles_. (As Peter would say, it wasn't quite cricket, although none of them knew any longer what insects had to do with fair play.) In any case, it worked.

"No land-drunk, legless boy will be captain of so much as a dinghy on my watch," censured Kraenen. "He'd light the pitch for tallow and set the whole ship ablaze and sink 'er in the harbor by sundown. He don't know stern from arse. His luck and looks won't keep the ship afloat, 'specially with woman and goats and dogs and them tree-things aboard."

Susan listened patiently to his rantings and grumblings and, finally, assented regally to his application for the post of captain.

"Wait now," Kraenen protested weakly. "I warn't saying–"

"You may choose your crew, of course," Susan interrupted smoothly. "Although I do insist upon at least half a complement of Narnians, so that Our people may learn the skills of the sea and depend less upon your worthy guildmembers for such simple voyages."

"Well. Hrmph." Kraenen scratched his chin and scowled. "I suppose ye'll be wanting to sail the morrow?"

"In a fortnight," said Susan graciously. "At your discretion, of course, Captain."

"Hrmph." Kraenen's scowl did not lessen, but his clenched fists unknotted a little at Susan's deferential nod.

"The Gentle Queen makes another conquest," whispered Lucy when Kraenen turned away.

Susan did not deign to respond.

 

_To Queen Susan of Narnia, Flower of the North, greetings._

_Truly have the poets said that seeds blown on the wind bear the sweetest fruit in other lands. Since our meeting, Most Gentle Queen, my heart has not been quiet. My ears listen for every murmur of thy name. My eyes seek thy gracious form among the gardens of my Father the Tisroc, may he live forever, but even his prized flowers pale against the memory of thy beauty in the fertile ground of my mind._

_Hast thou given thought to the offer I made when last we met?_

_Should this humble letter find favor in your heart, thou has only to send word. As the hawk flies to the Tarkaan, so shall I answer thy call._

_Prince Rabadash, First Son of Astiado Tisroc, may he live forever_

 

_To: Representative of the Crown of Narnia in the Lone Island Protectorate_

_Copied: Dockmaster, Felimath Harbor, Lone Islands_

_From: New Free Shipping Coalition of Terebinthia_

_Subj: Equitable tariffs on woven and dry goods_

_Esteemed sir/madam/Black Dwarf,_

_It has come to our attention that woven and dry goods proceeding from Terebinthia (see: Appendix A, Import/Export) and passing through the port of Felimath (see: Appendix B, Inventory) are subject to a sliding scale tariff (see: Appendix C, Duties Paid) not proportionate to the value of goods received._

_The government of Terebinthia having the majority of its concerns in forged goods and fish, we the independent guild members of Weavers, Basketmakers, Millers, etc., etc., propose a fair and equitable reevaluation of the standing Agreement (see: Appendix D, Agreement) according to the attached Terms and Conditions (Appendix E). In order to determine the aforementioned fair and equitable Agreement that shall be beneficial to all parties, we propose a meeting, which we hope may be of like minds. Send word by return ship via the Dockmaster at Felimath Harbor, whose discretion is well-known…_

They put to sea eight short days later, for the Captain's discretion depended on the tide. Against all expectations, Kraenen had chosen a Narnian Satyr for his first mate. Equally surly in temperament and capable of drinking equally alarming quantities of wine, the two seemed perfectly matched in personality. Burl the Satyr possessed a singularly salty vocabularly; Susan would not have been at all surprised to learn that was one of Kraenen's key criteria. The Captain and First Goat (as Kraenen scornfully called him) seemed perfectly delighted at the prospect of exchanging insults over the course of the ensuing voyage. Susan sighed inwardly, for Lucy's manners were certain to suffer as a result.

Of course, Susan was not entirely against the idea of expanding one's vocabulary.

Fully half the ship's crew were Galman, including the youth Sendaar who, Susan was dismayed to see, had the audacity to _wink_ at her as he boarded. She bit back a choice word of her own.

"Don't worry, Your Majesty." Frostfoot trotted up to Susan, lifting his tail proudly. " _I'll_ make sure he stays away from you."

Alarmed, Susan crouched swiftly to look the Wolf in the eye. At this display of dominance, his tail lowered. "You will do no such thing," she commanded. "You are here as a member of the Watch, not my own personal chaperone."

Frostfoot's head cocked in confusion. Susan sighed. It would do the Wolf good to expand _his_ vocabulary, she thought sourly.

"Pardon me, Majesty." Starthroat inserted herself between her mate and her Queen. "It means you're not to follow her around like a pup," the white-furred Wolf explained. "Now go check the perimeter. We don't want any stowaways."

Commander and founding member of the Watch, Starthroat had known Susan since the End of Winter. Susan had been determined to include her old friend on the voyage, and of course Frostfoot had managed to include himself as well. (Lucy's favorite companion, a large and gentle Bear, was deemed too heavy – and his shoulders too wide – for the narrow corridors belowdecks.)

"What's our mission, Majesty?" Starthroat pitched her voice low. "A maiden voyage does not need the Watch. Why are we here? Is there danger?"

After all these years, Susan shouldn't have been surprised at the Wolf's acumen. "It is a possibility," she allowed. She lowered her voice. "We have received messages from a faction calling itself the New Free Shipping Coalition of Terebinthia. It could be legitimate, but…"

"The Gulls bring rumors of piracy in the Bight of Calormen," said Starthroat.

Susan nodded. "It could be a ploy, yes; the entire Coalition might be a front for pirates. Else…" Susan leaned forward. "I don't believe it has anything to do with piracy. I believe the Coalition may be an indirect overture from Calormen itself. The Tisroc will not live forever. One of his sons may be reaching out to us for an informal meeting. The timing of the letters suggests…" she trailed off and flushed. "What I mean is, we might have an opportunity to establish cordial diplomatic relations _now._ "

"Then, when the Tisroc dies, we could relax the Watch on the Southern border." Starthroat's tail wagged slowly.

"And reinforce the Northern Watch against Ettinsmoor," Susan agreed.

"It would be quite a feat if we can accomplish it."

"And quite dangerous if I am mistaken," Susan admitted. "Edmund disagrees with me. He believes it is internal politics – dissent in Terebinthia – and that we ought not get involved."

"Edmund sees conspiracy everywhere," Lucy's cheerful voice interrupted. "What are we conspiring about now?" Startled, Susan stared at her sister, who had flopped down on the deck beside her. "Are you talking about our secret mission without me?"

Susan recovered her voice. "Did Edmund tell you?"

"He didn't have to." Affronted, Lucy poked Susan in the side. "Just because I do not like these political games does not mean I am ignorant of them," she scolded lightly.

Impulsively, Susan hugged her. "I _am_ sorry, Lu, for ruining our first voyage with spycraft."

Lucy laughed. "Don't be! I'm sure it will all be marvelous fun."

That was when Susan felt the first stirrings of misgiving. Lucy's idea of fun was not always… safe.

"You there!" roared Kraenen. Both Queens jumped. "Make yourselves useful or get belowdecks."

"Aye, Captain!" Lucy jumped up and raced for the rigging with glee.

Susan and Kraenen eyed each other like wolves vying for dominance. Susan gave way gracefully with a polite smile. "As you say, Captain." She might sail under this man's command, but she refused to say _aye_.

Harried and encouraged by Gulls at turns, the _Foxfire_ slipped out of the natural harbor and out from under the shadow of Cair Paravel. Susan's spirits lifted with the breeze. The captain shouted (echoed even more profanely by Burl), the crew heaved at the ropes, and the sails snapped and filled in the wind. Susan lifted her face to better feel the sea air.

From the bow, Lucy called out, "Isn't it marvelous?"

Even the dour Galmans were grinning – except for Sendaar, who was sulking in the crow's nest. Susan surreptitiously adjusted her gown, hoping he could not take advantage of his position. She thought of asking one of the Gulls, but they would be bewildered by the thought of clothing, let alone cleavage. Susan sighed. She had really hoped to leave that sort of nonsense behind for the voyage.

"Bear away," called Kraenen.

"Belay that!" bellowed Burl. "Keep 'er close-hauled!"

On hearing his order countermanded, Kraenen whirled on the Satyr, his craggy face turning red at the audacity. Before he could open his mouth, Burl hurriedly explained. "The wind swirls, sir. She'll luff until we're free of the cliffs."

Kraenen scowled. "I suppose a bloody mermaid told you that."

Burl grinned. "No. Birds." He pointed at the flock of Gulls wheeling overhead. Susan smirked to herself as Kraenen walked away grumbling. Surreptitiously, she saluted the Satyr, who bounded away after the Captain with a clatter of hooves.

The new timbers creaked, the sails billowed and caught the wind, and the _Foxfire_ leaped forward into the waves.

They were underway.


	2. With fetters firmly bound

_In flowery meads the sportive Sirens play_  
_Touch the soft lyre, and tune the vocal lay;_  
_Me, me alone, with fetters firmly bound_  
_The Gods allow to hear the dangerous sound._

\- Homer's _Odyssey_ , translation by A. Pope

 _The sea was not a mask. No more was she._  
\- Wallace Stevens, "The Idea of Order at Key West"

 _Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.  
_ \- Mariners' proverb

* * *

 

Wispy clouds brushed like horses' manes across the sky. This kind of weather heralded good fishing, Susan had learned; the Otters dove and tumbled in the waves, Seabirds skimmed the surface, and good-natured insults flew back and forth. (Well, mostly good-natured. They _were_ Otters, after all.)

Only three days out from Cair Paravel, and it already seemed like another world. No visiting courtiers paying honeyed compliments and veiled insults. No mediations, no audiences, no royal missives. Just the sky, the scudding clouds, and the endless, rolling sea.

And the crew.

"Heave to, you scabrous sons of scallops!" shouted Kraenen.

Not to be outdone, Burl gripped his horns and let out a curdling scream. "Captain says HEAVE TO, you lobster-brained landlubbers!"

Susan made a mental note: _talk to Peter about creating a Narnian Navy with strict codes of conduct_. _A basic charter. An etiquette lesson on proper language._ Anything.

"Can you imagine us transporting some dignitary to Narnia with pomp, circumstance and cursing?" asked Lucy with a chuckle.

"Aslan forbid," said Susan with feeling. "In any case, I fear the _Foxfire_ would not be a suitable diplomatic vessel, even without the cursing–"

She was drowned out by shrill cries from overhead. "Sail ho!" shrieked a Gull.

Another of the garrulous Birds swept past Susan at the rail. "Pirates! Murderers! Thieves! Slavery and ruin!"

Susan's hands gripped the rail tightly. "Stop!" she commanded. "Come here, Friend Gull, and tell me what you have seen – slowly, if you please."

The Gull landed obediently, his head twisted to look at her from an impossible angle.

"Now, tell me: what sail?" asked Susan.

"What pirates?" asked Lucy swiftly on the heels of Susan's question.

The Gull tucked his head under a snowy wing.

A second Gull alit on the mainstay. "Pirate sail. Due west. Chasing another sail, Calormene." Her phrases were rapid and clipped. "I'm Seafret. That's Syke. He isn't good with questions."

Lucy bent forward to look the first Gull in the eye. "Friend Syke, you mentioned slavery. Why?"

"He isn't good with questions," repeated Seafret with an irritable clack of her beak.

"We assure you that it is important, else Our sister would not ask." As Susan had hoped, a few Royal Pronouns served to impress the severity of the situation upon the Birds. "Are the pirates slavers?"  

"Not pirates," snapped Syke. "Calormenes. Many slaves. Pirates chase. Chase _now_. Wind _now_!" He flapped his wings in agitation.

Lucy turned to Susan. "You and Ed were both wrong," she said with relish. "It's not a conspiracy, and it's not politics. They're _pirates_!"

"Pursuing Calormene slavers," reminded Susan.

"Not anymore." Kraenen stomped over, a truly fearful scowl contorting his face. "They've come about. You, bird – you say they're pirates?" He didn't wait for an answer. "They're heading straight for us."

"Fly!" cried Seafret in alarm.

Kraenen's glare took in both Gulls, Susan, Lucy and a goodly portion of the ocean. "We're trying, featherbrain. We won't outrun them long." He stabbed a finger at Susan. "You two!" he barked. " Pirates like to steal pretty things. Ye'd best hide yourselves."

Susan supposed that was as close as Kraenen would ever get to paying her a compliment.

The Queens ensconced themselves in the captain's cabin, which was probably close enough to what Kraenen had in mind. However, he had neglected to mention where or how they were to hide.

He clearly hadn't enough experience with Lucy.

"Lucy," said Susan, valiantly striving to keep her face stern, "I don't think anyone will believe we are men no matter how loose the breeches are."

"But it's a brilliant plan – and it will be so much fun!" Lucy protested with a laugh. "Hand me that waistcoat? No, the orange one that looks like a coral snake."

Susan tossed the offensively colored garment to her sister with a sigh. "Lucy, we have _breasts_."

A bolt of linen bandages sailed into Susan's lap.

"Bind them!" said Lucy cheerfully. "I've already done mine. Not that I've much to bind, of course. But as you always say, it's best to be thorough."

"Thorough," repeated Susan weakly.

Lucy nodded. "Speaking of which, we'll have to cut our hair."

Susan buried her face in her hands.

Ignoring her, Lucy twirled her knife with a flourish. "We'll start a new courtly fashion!"

After that, it was only a matter of length. Lucy was thoroughly enamored of her new bob, and it was all Susan could do to tie her own newly shortened hair back into a queue before Lucy and her knife hacked _everything_ off.

With irrepressible cheer, Lucy strapped on her sword and adjusted her hat to a rakish angle. "Don't look so glum, Susan. Pirates aren't all bad. You'll see!"

 _Pirates_ , Susan thought bleakly. Pirates … and Lucy. It was bound to end in disaster.

 

They were boarded at dawn.

Susan overrode Kraenen's protest at her appearance, and at her orders not to offer resistance. It was still possible that the pirate ship was really a Calormene vessel in disguise, bearing a message of peace from Prince Rabadash. To strike out in ignorance could be fatal to more than their small crew.

"Don't worry so much," whispered Lucy. "They're not generals or princes or courtiers. Things are simpler at sea." Susan wasn't sure whether to laugh at her sister's pronouncement or shake her. There was nothing simple about any of it.

Lucy's optimism aside, the pirate ship did not make a favorable first impression. Its barnacle-laden hull was green and slimy, its timbers were listing, and from the way it rode in the water Susan suspected rot.

As the pirate ship clunked and scraped against their own bright hull, Susan bristled at every protesting creak of wood. Even Lucy winced and looked askance at the plank that landed with a thump at their feet. A host of unwashed men scrambled aboard. Most of them were barefoot, but all were armed to the teeth – several carried knives in their mouths, and Susan despaired at the gleam of interest in Lucy's eyes.

Besides, a toothy guard was so much more efficient.

A crab scuttled off the plank and into the shadows, and a pair of worn boots followed it aboard. "Do not look so glum, fair Master…?" The owner of the boots sashayed down the plank, twirling his fingers in the air as if to conjure the remainder of his sentence.

"Wolfe," said Susan firmly in as deep a voice as she could credibly manage. "Messrs. Wolfe & Wolfe, Import/Export. We are meant to be meeting a representative of the New Free Shipping Coalition of Terebinthia, Mister…?"

"Captain," the pirate corrected. He tipped forward in a bow that was either flamboyant, foreign, or utterly fuddled with drink. "Captain Jack Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_."

Susan, Lucy and the pirate captain turned as one to behold the mossy ship that now listed to port.

" _That_ ," stated Lucy with certainty, "is not the _Black Pearl_."

Sparrow sighed. "No, it is not." He turned his back on the unprepossessing ship and bowed. "The good ship _Maggot_ and the New Free Shipping Coalition of Terebinthia, at your service."

Susan raised a skeptical eyebrow. " _You_ are the Shipping Coalition?"

"We are entrepreneurs and shrewd businessmen of the sea, Mr. Wolfe. You there, barnacles-for-brains!" Sparrow (Susan refused to refer to him as _Captain_ even in her own thoughts) raised his voice in a hoarse shout. "Yes, you! Bring us the Charter."

"At least he's literate," whispered Lucy while Sparrow's back was turned.

Susan scoffed. "Lit, perhaps."

Lucy stifled a giggle.

"Now who are your, ah, four-footed friends?" Sparrow asked uneasily, for the Wolves had flanked their disguised Queens. Starthroat held herself stiffly but remained silent; Frostfoot had been growling low in his throat ever since the pirates had come aboard.

Lucy had given the Narnian Beasts strict orders not to speak where they could be overheard by the pirates. (Susan was forced to institute additional orders not to snicker at their Queens in disguise. Lucy had always been most comfortable in men's clothing stolen from one of her brothers. Susan was not.) There was no hiding Burl or the other bipedal Narnians, of course, but they might gain some advantage by hiding further allies in plain sight.

Frostfoot and Sparrow eyed each other distrustfully. Sparrow reached out a hesitant hand to pet the Wolf, and Frostfoot snapped at him.

The pirate withdrew his fingers quickly and wiggled them one by one, as if to make sure they were all still there. "Nice doggie," he said.

Starthroat sniggered. Lucy had a coughing fit and Susan bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Sparrow blithely ignored their mirth. "I am authorized," he declared, "to negotiate favorable terms on behalf of the New Free Shipping Coalition, provided that all settlements and agreements devised are approved by a subsequently authorized third part to be named henceforth." He winked at Susan. "At the discretion of the Coalition, of course."

"Of course," she parroted dryly. Begrudgingly, she had to acknowledge his fluency in the convoluted language of negotiations. Edmund would have loved sparring with the man. Lucy was clearly fascinated, either by his mannerisms or his outlandish clothing. (She seemed especially envious of his hat.) Even Peter would probably have found Sparrow charming, in an incorrigible sort of way.

But even after only a few minutes in the pirate's company, she longed to wipe that irritating smirk off his face with a well-placed arrow.

"And on whose behalf are you negotiating, Mister… Wolffe?" His voice was either patronizing or gently mocking; it was hard to tell with all the bobbing and weaving about.

"His Majesty King Peter the Magnificent, High King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion."

Sparrow feigned a yawn. "He sounds like a most exciting fellow, I'm sure. It's no wonder he employs others to negotiate on his behalf; we wouldn't want to tax his royalness with reciting all those wearisome titles."

Lucy stifled another giggle; Susan stifled the urge to elbow her in the side. Their little masquerade wouldn't last an hour at this rate.

Syke swooped down and pecked at Sparrow's hand where it rested on the gunwale. "Liar!" he scolded. Sparrow started. "Pirate!"

Seafret dove at her mate, squawking angrily. "Supposed to be quiet, bigbeak!"

Susan pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Now that's interesting," said Sparrow with a sly grin. He watched the quarrelling Gulls a moment, and then fixed a thoughtful gaze on the two Wolves. "Very interesting."

"Thief, liar, pirate, _thief_!" repeated Syke stubbornly.

"You already said that one, mate," Sparrow pointed out helpfully.

Susan shifted nervously. They had already lost their one slim advantage of surprise. The situation was getting dangerously out of hand, but she was leery of drawing any more attention to herself than she already had. She looked imploringly at Kraenen. The captain nodded and stepped forward, thrusting out his chest.

" _Mister_ Sparrow." Kraenen leveled a scornful eye at the _Maggot_ , as if any man who sailed in such a travesty of a ship didn't deserve a higher title.

" _Captain_ Jack Sparrow," the pirate corrected. "I know the good ship _Maggot_ may not look a worthy vessel–"

"Not seaworthy," muttered Kraenen.

"–but you may yet see her merits." Sparrow took off his hat in a sweeping gesture, and the _Maggot_ obliged by opening a series of little doors along the length of the ship.

Seafret shrieked with laughter. "His portholes are square! What clambrain came up with that?"

But Susan frowned. The windows were square, yes, but she could see a round sort of darkness in the middle that seemed distantly familiar, as if she had once seen it in a painting…

Sparrow's eyebrows rose. "You don't have gunports, eh?" he murmured to himself. "Very interesting."

The Gulls' chatter grew louder. "Cupboards?" Seafret cried. "What's it saying about cupboards?"

"They keep food in their square portholes!" Syke launched himself to investigate.

Susan's feeling of uneasiness grew.

Seemingly untroubled, Lucy smiled sweetly. "Very nice, I'm sure. You may yet see Narnia's merits as well, Captain." At her side, Frostfoot bared his teeth in a wolfish grin every bit as disconcerting as Lucy's.

"Ah. Yes. Very sharp – er, astute of you to say so." Sparrow carefully tucked his hands behind his back.

"What is it you want?" Susan finally asked.

"I should have thought that would be obvious." Sparrow stepped past Susan, gesturing at their surroundings. "I want your ship. And now I have it." Suddenly his expansive gesture caught Susan by the arm, spun her around and pulled her tightly against his body. Quick as a soldier, he drew a knife and held it to her throat. "Any more questions… mate?"

 

By evening, Susan and Lucy once again found themselves in the captain's cabin – this time locked inside.

"We could send a Bird," Lucy said with obvious reluctance.

They could. It would not be difficult to sneak a letter past the pirates to Seafret and send her winging back to Cair Paravel, summoning Peter and Edmund… to do what? Stand on the shore and shout imprecations? Send a Gryphon wing to drop rocks onto and sink the ships?

Susan shook her head. "There is little they could do for us that we cannot do ourselves," she decided, leaving unsaid that the indignity of calling their brothers to the rescue was not to be borne unless absolutely necessary.

Relief shone on Lucy's face. "Good," she said. "So how do we take over the ship? Ships, I should say; we'll certainly need both of them if we're going to rescue the Calormene slaves."

As usual, Lucy's combination of uncanny insight and unwavering confidence left Susan speechless for a moment. Sometimes her little sister was truly terrifying.

"We might start with asking what they _really_ want," Lucy prompted.

"That is a good question." Susan frowned, her thoughts returning to the task at hand. "We have no cargo other than spirits, and not very valuable at that. Sparrow doesn't strike me as a slaver," she admitted.

Lucy shook her head in agreement. "But he must want us for something, else he would maroon us somewhere along the way."

Susan's lips tightened. "Ransom?"

Lucy scoffed. "He has no idea who we are!"

 _Doesn't he_? Susan wondered silently.

An arrhythmic pounding on the door alerted them to Sparrow's arrival. He waltzed in, closed the cabin doors behind him with a lazy pirouette, and strolled to the window. "Lovely boat," he commented. "All shiny and new."

"Enough dawdling," said Lucy sternly. "What do you want?"

Sparrow cleared his throat. "Master at Arms?" he called. "Take that one."

Without warning, the largest man Susan had ever seen barged through the doors, picked up Lucy and threw her over his shoulder. Susan knew her sister had at least two knives still secreted somewhere in her peculiar costume, but the man was built like a Minotaur; it was no wonder Lucy didn't try to wrest herself free.

"Put down my– brother." Susan caught herself just in time.

"Don't worry," called Lucy, even as the gargantuan pirate bore her out the door. "I'll come back for you!"

Susan was a second away from drawing the knife from her waistcoat when Sparrow chuckled. "There's no need for alarm, mate. I'm just sending your brother over to the _Maggot_ with one of your wolves and half of your crew. She needs a good bit of repair, and I need a crew that's easier to control, savvy?"

"I do not _savvy_ ," Susan bit out. "What do you want with us?"

"I told you what I want. I want your ship, and now I have it. Q.E.D."

"So you said," answered Susan acerbically. She was acutely conscious of her flimsy disguise. Even dressed as a man, her features were too feminine to command respect from a bunch of brigands. On the other hand, the pirate captain himself wore kohl around his eyes as thick as any lady of the evening, so perhaps he wouldn't look too closely at her...

"You aren't a eunuch, are you?" Sparrow asked with distaste.

So much for that.

"Are you?" she shot back.

Sparrow grinned appreciatively. "I think we'll get along just fine, Mister Wolffe."

Much to Susan's surprise, they actually did.

 

Over the following week, the ships tacked south in unison as the Gulls searched in vain for Calormene ship. Susan took the opportunity to learn all she could about Captain Jack Sparrow. She pestered him with questions, but somehow he was always the one trailing her about the ship. He seemed unaware of what he was doing, but he also seemed half-dulled with drink, and Susan had observed that he hardly ever took more than a sip at a time from his flask.

Susan was coming to appreciate just how crafty Sparrow truly was.

"What do you want with the Calormenes?" Susan no longer expected answers to her questions, at least not coherent ones, but this time Sparrow surprised her.

"They have something of mine, and I mean to get it back. I can't get home without it, savvy?"

 _Interesting,_ as Sparrow would say. "Where is home?"

His gaze seemed to stretch beyond the horizon. "The _Pearl_."

Talking with Sparrow was like gleaning information from Syke. Questions had to be very precise – and the questioner, very patient. "And where is that?"

Instead of answering, Sparrow pointed out to sea. "Flat, isn't it? Not just the sea – everything."

Susan frowned, puzzled. "Of course."

"This is a flat world," clarified Sparrow. At Susan's nod, he sighed. "Mine is round," he explained. "And all the tricks I know to hide from the ship we're pursuing only work with a curved horizon."

Susan could hardly conceive of such a thing.

His mouth curved in an ironic smile. "Columbus wouldn't get far with you, would he now?"

"Who?" She forgot to keep her voice in a lower register, but Sparrow showed no sign of noticing.

In fact, he ignored her question entirely. "What happens when you sail off the edge of your world?"

"No one really knows," said Susan, surprised. "At least, I've never met Bird nor Beast – nor sailor – who has traveled so far."

"Ah, talking birds. That is one advantage of this world," he admitted. "I'll grant it has others, too." He glanced at her, briefly, but his eyes slid away when she tried to meet them.

"So you need to retrieve this… item… from the Calormenes in order to return home? And then what?" asked Susan. "Will you simply leave us here and go back to your own ship?"

Sparrow didn't answer for a long moment. "Do you know what a ship is?" he asked finally in oblique answer to Susan's question. "Freedom. The freedom to go where you please, when you please. To follow the wind and the tides and your own bloody counsel. Those slavers… we have them in my world, too. Never could stomach it." He glanced at Susan. "It's no business of mine, but I might just stick my nose in it anyway. Happens more than it should," he confessed.

Susan couldn't help herself. She smiled at him, and he turned away.

"It's a large nose," he said defensively, rubbing at it. "Don't tell anyone."

"I think they already know," she said softly. Sparrow grunted and made no reply. But Susan had learned all she needed to know, and more than she expected.

Much more.

 

The eighth day dawned with a brilliant red sky ("A hunter's sky," Starthroat called it; Sparrow just looked worried and muttered something about old wives' tales). But soon the clouds drew across the sky, accompanied by an eerie sound that drifted over the water.

It sounded at first like a Wolf's cry. Susan instinctively looked at Starthroat, who stood utterly silent, her hackles raised. A second wordless howl joined in, and then a third, and the wolf-like chorus turned to song. The hairs on the back of Susan's neck prickled in alarm.

And then the fog rolled in and the song wrapped around her, thick and insubstantial as mist, closing her off from the rest of the ship. She could almost make out the words…

_Come live with me and be my love,  
And we will all the pleasures prove_

What? Mystified, Susan moved to the ship's rail. The voices dissolved into a momentarily discordant hum, and then the song began anew. It was a fascinatingly familiar melody. Susan couldn't remember where she had heard it before, but the answer was there, just off the bow, tantalizingly out of reach…

_There were angels dining at the Ritz  
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square_

Susan leaned a little farther, straining to hear more. She could almost see the outlines of a gray city veiled in the spray, and lights beneath the waves…

_London Bridge is falling down,  
falling down, falling down_

"Susan!"

A harsh cry penetrated the fog. Susan looked wildly around her and nearly screamed when she found herself clinging to the wrong side of the rail, with nothing but the simple lion figurehead between her and the churning waves. And ahead–

The shoals.

"Take my hand!"

Instinctively, Susan looked for Lucy. But it was not her sister's hand that stretched towards her, and it was certainly not Lucy's muscular, tattooed arm that hauled her back over the rail. "Do you still hear them?" shouted Sparrow in her ear.

_And like an echo far away  
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley square_

Susan clapped her hands over her ears. Visions assaulted her: names, voices, strange horseless carriages and flashing lights and a keening noise followed by thunder, a thunder that made the earth shake–

"Damn it, woman, listen to me!" Strong hands cupped her face. "Listen to me, not them. They're sirens. What they're saying – it isn't real. Or if it is, it isn't real _here_ and _now_. Narnia, England, the moon – wherever the devil it is you really come from, it doesn't matter. Be _here_."

Gradually, it became easier to focus on his voice. The singing became muffled, scratchy. _Like a phonograph_ , her mind supplied. "What the bloody hell is a phonograph?" she mumbled.

"Of all the– We don't have time for this!" Sparrow said, and slapped her.

The next thing she knew, Susan had slapped him back. She stood in front of him, chest heaving, feeling like she had just run several miles. What in the Lion's name was happening?

Sparrow rubbed his jaw. "For a Gentle Queen, you're awfully familiar with violence," he commented with a sly grin.

Susan's jaw dropped. "So you do know," she managed.

"Steer now. Talk later." He tugged her along behind them until they reached the helm. All around them, Susan noticed, the Galmans and Sparrow's crewmen were struggling against a series of ingeniously tied ropes that linked one man to the next, weaving in and out of cleats and around the mainmast. Aft, Starthroat was grimly holding onto one end of the rope with her teeth. Most of the other Narnians were restraining various human crewmembers; Burl was up in the rigging, undoubtedly doing something important with the sails that had some inscrutable name, like jibing the jib or tricing the trysail or some such nonsense that could be said much more simply by anyone who wasn't a man.

"Do I need to slap you again?" asked Sparrow, his face uncomfortably close to hers.

Susan focused on the bridge of his nose, and then behind him, on the helm.

No one was at the helm.

"The shoals!" gasped Susan.

Sparrow lunged forwards, pulling Susan in his wake. He threw himself at the wheel and strained to turn the ship aside. Susan threw her weight, slight as it was, on the next handle. Slowly, the _Foxfire_ began to wear to starboard.

"Tiller," grunted Sparrow.

Susan obeyed, leaning into the tiller until she felt a shift in the wind.

The sirens, too, must have felt it, for a gale rose in sudden, furious counterpoint to their song. _Falling down, falling down, falling down_ –

"Jack!" she cried desperately. "It's too strong!" Susan didn't even know whether she meant the siren song or the wind, but Sparrow's manic grin was hardly the reassurance she sought.

"Wind's in our sails now. We'll outrun them!"

"She'll tear apart!" Susan cried. "And what about–" Dread for Lucy stopped her voice in her throat.

Sparrow reached for Susan and pulled her into his side. "This is a good ship. She'll hold together. So will the _Maggot_ , believe it or not. I saw her sail a while back – they're well clear of the rocks."

Susan sagged against him in relief, even as Sparrow stiffened.

"It's a real storm now," he cried, for the wind had become a roar. Somewhere above them, Susan could hear Burl challenging a pantheon of gods with a wild laugh. "He's lost his bloody mind!" exclaimed Sparrow.

"He's a Satyr," Susan shouted in his ear, but she could tell the explanation didn't make much sense to the pirate. "He's fine!"

Sparrow gave her a doubtful look. "If you say so, love."

" _What_?"

 He gave her a maddening grin and shouted in her ear. "Take the helm!"

At least he didn't repeat the insolent endearment.

The full length of his body pressed close to her. Rain lashed at them, soaked them to the skin, but there was warmth on Susan's back where he pressed against her, where his arms wrapped around her, where their joined hands rested on the wheel. Half-blinded by spray, Susan was caught unawares when an enormous wave crashed over the bow, raced across the heaving deck and enveloped them both. She gasped, and Sparrow laughed. The sound reverberated in her chest until she could remain silent no more, and Susan laughed aloud.

She had never felt so alive.

Together their taut muscles strained to hold course. Their bodies swayed in a shockingly intimate dance to the rhythm of the swells. Sparrow's rough cheek rubbed against hers. "No throne ever felt like this, love."

Susan turned her head and kissed him hard on the mouth. "Stop preaching and help me steer," she ordered.

His look of mingled shock and delight was most gratifying. It also had the fortuitous effect of silencing him, at least for a moment.

"As you command," he said, rallying. "You're the Captain. For now," he amended hastily.

The sea itself seemed to surge in Susan's breast. She turned to kiss him again, and this time Sparrow let go the helm to cup her face in his hands, as if steering the ship through her.

Dimly, Susan wondered if this was how eagles felt when the grappled with their mates mid-flight.

With a lazy grin, Sparrow released her face and slid his hands down her bare arms before wrapping them once more around her hands on the wheel. "Storm's subsiding," he commented.

"Is it?" she murmured faintly, and Sparrow chuckled.

"We can chase it if you wish, love."

"Just remember that this is a flat world," she retorted, regaining her footing. "Sooner or later, you'll run out of ocean."

Sparrow fingered his compass. "Not while I have this."

"What does that do?"

"It's a compass," Sparrow said. "Points north." He bowed his head over it and poked at the needle.

Susan smiled. "Compass it may be, but that, my dear demoted captain, is not north."

His head snapped up. "Demoted? What do you mean, _demoted_?"

Susan gestured wordlessly at the deck, where the Narnian crew still had the pirates tied in sturdy knots.

Sparrow was silent for a long moment. "That's not fair," he finally protested in a plaintive voice.

"That's mutiny," said Susan smugly.

 

After the pirates were tied more securely, their swords and strange weapons locked in a chest and the key hung round Starthroat's neck, the next order of business was to contact the _Maggot_. Susan sent Seafret to see how Lucy was getting on. She fully expected her sister to be in command of the other ship by now. Knowing Lucy, she would have solidified her captaincy by winning the pirates' regard and commandeering an outlandish hat to complete her ensemble.

"I'm sure your brother is perfectly well," Sparrow attempted to reassure her. He had joined her on the poop deck, where Susan had taken a few quiet moments of respite to watch their wake for telltale signs of… something. Surely some other kind of disaster would follow them. The siren, or the storm, or…

Then Sparrow's words sank in.

"My brother?" Susan laughed in disbelief. "You knew _I_ was a woman, but you still think… Oh dear. There will be no living with Lucy after this. She'll want to travel in disguise everywhere she goes, no thanks to you."

"Lucy?" echoed Sparrow. "Not… _Queen_ Lucy?"

Susan smiled.

Sparrow raised his eyes heavenward. "Why am I always surrounded by women?" he complained to the air.

"You never did tell me whether you're a eunuch," offered Susan. She was in excellent spirits now that the _Foxfire_ was hers again.

As if reading her thoughts, Sparrow commented sourly, "I assume you mean to be captain." He sniffed. "Irregular, but not insurmountable. I suppose you're going to wear a dress. Lots of bows and ruffles and… frilly things?"

"I'll have you know that my dresses are quite sensible. I abhor frilly things. Besides," she added in a rueful voice, "the crew would hardly take me seriously."

Sparrow examined her bedraggled form, his eyes lingering noticeably below her face. "And you think they take you seriously now?"

Susan flushed and crossed her arms over her chest. She had told Lucy the bandages would never work.

"You'd best get rid of those," said Sparrow, gesturing at her chest.

Incredulous, Susan could only stare at him.

"I mean the bandages, love."

"You'd be well served to use proper nouns," Susan muttered.

Sparrow waved a careless hand as if to dispel the very thought. "I'm not what you would call _proper_ , but I'll humor you. What would you have me call them, eh? Breasts? Swells? Delightfully fleshy mounds? Feminine protuberances? Those two hills above the valley of your–"

"You were talking about bandages," Susan ground out.

Sparrow halted mid-enumeration. "Was I? Can't imagine why."

Fortunately, Seafret returned before Susan could follow through on her desire to push Sparrow overboard. "Keelhaul him!" the Gull suggested eagerly.

"Never mind that," said Susan. "What of Our sister?"

Seafret preened her feathers. "She's captain now. No more trouble."

"Hah," interjected Sparrow. Privately, Susan agreed. Despite the euphoria of the moment, she suspected the trouble had only just begun.

 

"Welcome aboard!" cried Lucy when Susan boarded the _Maggot_.

"The first thing this ship needs is a good swabbing." Susan wiped her hand on her trousers. The gunwale was _sticky_.

"The first thing this ship needs," Lucy corrected firmly, "is a new name."

Sparrow raised a hand. "Might I make a suggestion?"

"No," said Susan and Lucy in unison.

At Sparrow's sulky look, Lucy softened. "You're fearsome pirates! Your ship should have a predatory name. Something like…"

Starthroat coughed.

Susan couldn't help but grin. " _The Sea Wolf_?"

Lucy laughed. " _Sea Wolf_ and _Foxfire_! We have our own fleet now. You know," she added thoughtfully, "I never thought to ask about _Foxfire_. Who is it named after?"

"What," corrected Syke with a snap of his beak.

Not to be outdone, Seafret thrust her head in front of her mate. "She," the Gull added pointedly.

Mystified, Susan looked to Lucy for a more intelligible answer.

"Sailors refer to ships as female," Lucy explained. "But I do not know who – or what – _Foxfire_ refers to."

"Rotting wood," called Sparrow, inserting himself smoothly into the conversation. Susan couldn't remember giving him permission to leave the _Foxfire_ , but he had followed her anyway.

She looked down her nose at him. "I beg your pardon."

"Granted. To be precise, the phosphorescence of rotting wood." Sparrow swung himself up over the rail, forcing Susan to take a step backward. The man couldn't even climb stairs like a normal being.

Starthroat cocked her head in puzzlement. "Wood does not glow."

"Does too," jeered Syke.

The Gull's mate clacked her bill. "Fungus," she said knowingly. "Green fungus."

"Glowing green fungus," repeated Susan bleakly.

Sparrow nudged her in the side. "And you make fun of _my_ ship's name."

Susan massaged her temples. "Seafret," she addressed the more sensible of the Gulls, "do you know _who_ named the ship after the phosphorescence of rotting wood?"

"I suspect a fox," put in Sparrow. Susan rolled her eyes. "Well I hardly think it was the fungus – unless it was that lichen-encrusted captain of yours."

Kraenen had departed the _Maggot_ as soon as the _Foxfire_ was in range of the longboats. The Galman had claimed he couldn't stand another minute aboard what he termed the "festering sore of a ship," and had scuttled as far as he could get from Lucy's enthusiastic efforts to reform both ship and crew.

Susan had half-expected Sparrow to do the same, but the erstwhile captain still followed her around like a shadow. Oddly, she no longer minded. She had come to expect his presence at her elbow when she stood gazing out to see, his sarcastic comments when she spoke with Kraenen, his sly humor and inconsequential remarks when she brooded too much on what was to come.

For Susan knew that Sparrow would not give up pursuit of the Calormene ship. And neither would she.

 

_Queen Susan of Narnia, Fair Northern Flower of My Heart,_

_My days stretch like the barren desert before me. No word of you has reached my ears. No call issues from your lips. It is as the poets have said: travel not alone in the desert, for no man can outlive thirst._

_Write to me, I pray, Gentle Bloom, and put an end to my wanderings. Does your heart yet doubt my intentions? Pray, join me in my father's kingdom (may he live forever). Let me lay the glory of Tashbaan at your feet._

_Be my wife, and I will lay the world at your feet._

_Your devoted servant,_

_Rabadash, First Son of Astiado Tisroc, may he live forever_

 

_Susan,_

_It's been a week and no word. Edmund won't stop spouting conspiracy theories. The scented letters are piling up; I think he's allergic._

_Send word?_

_Peter_

_Lucy,_

_I think Susan's ignoring me. Was it something I said?_

_Peter_

_Susan and Lucy,_

_Ignore His Most Royal Worrywort. I think I've figured out this Terebinthian nonsense; it's simpler than either of us thought! I'll tell you when you get back. We'll have a bonfire, and you can provide the kindling. Who's this Raddish fellow anyway?_

_Watch out for pirates – har._

_Ed_

 

As night fell, a golden tower of clouds rose above the horizon, fading to soft lavender underneath like the belly of some monster casting shadows over the sea.

"Now that's a hunter's sky," commented Sparrow softly.

Shortly after an Albatross had arrived with the letters, Susan had withdrawn to her cabin. Lucy was busy penning replies from her perch in the crow's nest, and so it was Sparrow who had sought her out. He opened the window and drew her to it, making it suddenly easier to breathe inside the stuffy cabin.

He did not badger her, or cast her worried looks, or make earnest offers to listen, or suggest alternative solutions to the decision she had already made – all of which Susan expected from her siblings when the truth finally came out about Rabadash's offer of marriage.

Instead, Sparrow told her of his round world and the wonders of the sea. "Strange things lie beneath, love. A thousand wonders, sunken ships, eyeless creatures and ancient gods... A man could spend lifetimes exploring the sea and never really know her."

"Like a woman?" asked Susan, faintly amused despite herself.

"Aye, and a jealous one. Once the sea has a hold over you, she'll never let you go."

"That is the first thing you've said that I believe," Susan said, her voice hitching. She blinked back tears. She focused on the cool sting of the wind on her face, the rhythm of the waves slapping against the hull, the creak of wood.

Anything but the thought of spending the rest of her life in the desert.

"So who's the eunuch?"

Startled, Susan finally looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

He nodded at the perfumed letter still clenched in her fist. "Flowery penmanship, flowery scent, flowery words… eunuch."

Susan snorted. "I wish." Against her better judgment, she showed him the letter.

"He sounds like an ass," scoffed Sparrow.

Susan bristled. Not that she didn't agree, but the condescension in his voice rankled. "Prince Rabadash–" she began, but she could not get any farther. Sparrow was too busy howling with laughter.

"Is that really his name? Prince Rub-My-Ass?"

Stiffly, Susan shook off his arm. "I will not stand for such language, Mister Sparrow."

"Good luck with that, love." Sparrow pointed at his own chest. "Pirate," he reminded her. "It's all part of the Code. So tell me, what did Rub-a-Dub do to insult you?"

Susan's lips twitched. "He asked me to marry him. Don't tell Lucy," she added quickly, "the others don't know. And don't lecture me. I know he has an ulterior motive. What I don't know is whether our goals are... aligned."

"And what precisely are your goals, oh Queen of Conundrums?"

"Securing a safe future for Narnia," replied Susan in a firm voice. "If I can sway Calormene policy towards the abolition of slavery, so much the better."

Frown lines appeared between Sparrow's eyebrows as he studied her. "And what of your own happiness? Your own freedom?"

Susan forced a lightness she did not feel. "A pleasant bonus to be sure, Mister Sparrow, but I don't intend on pressing my luck, if that is what worries you."

"No, love. That's not what worries me." He paused, his gaze roving the horizon as if searching for words in the endless procession of waves. "That crown must be heavier than an anchor," he said finally. "Pointier, too, I imagine."

"Ruling Narnia is not a burden," Susan retorted hotly. "At least… it did not used to be. It is the other countries that can make it seem so."

"Countries like Calormen." He didn't seem to need a reply, so she gave him none. They sat in amiable silence for a long while, until Sparrow inevitably broke it. He seemed incapable of staying quiet for more than a few minutes at a time.

"You can't live your whole life for others," he said.

Susan shook her head reflexively. Arguing with him had become a habit. "Nor can you live for yourself alone."

Pity shone in his eyes; Susan suspected it lurked in hers as well.

"Lucy would say there should be a happy medium between our two absolutes," said Susan with a watery chuckle.

"She's a wise woman, your little sister. You should listen to her."

"Maybe we both should."

Sparrow sighed ostentatiously and tipped his hat over his eyes. "It's too late for me, love. What does your bird friend say? Pirate, liar, thief."

"You forgot scoundrel," Susan supplied.

"Too many syllables."

"For all their loquaciousness, seagulls do have a sadly limited vocabulary," Susan admitted.

"Still," said Sparrow, "I like your talking birds. If I were to build a ship, I'd have a bird for a figurehead. Pretty little thing with lots of feathers."

"If you were to build a ship, it would undoubtedly have another bare-breasted woman on the prow," said Susan archly.

Sparrow leaned forward. "I didn't say the ship would be for me, love. I have the _Pearl_. Well, had. But I'll get her back," he said confidently. "If I built a ship, it would be for – someone else. Not that I don't admire statuesque women," he added breezily, "but not everyone has my good taste."

Susan recognized the diversionary tactic and let it go. He would tell her when he was ready – or not. For someone who spoke constantly, he was remarkably closemouthed.

"Kiss me," she said instead.

If he recognized her diversionary tactic, he didn't mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The siren songs that Susan almost recognizes are from the following:  
> \- "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love," a famous poem by Christopher Marlowe (ca. 1590)  
> \- "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" sung by Nat King Cole (1944)  
> \- and, of course, "London Bridge is Falling Down," traditional English nursery rhyme


	3. What seas what shores

_What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers_  
_And woodthrush calling through the fog_  
_My daughter_  
\- T.S. Eliot, "Marina"

_"True enough, this compass does not point north."  
"...Where does it point?"  
"It points to the thing you want most in this world."  
_ \- Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Swann, _Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest_

_Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me."_  
\- William Shakespeare, "Much Ado about Nothing"

* * *

By the time Lucy had sent her sensational account of their adventures to Peter and Edmund, Susan had come to a decision. She and Sparrow would move to the newly rechristened _Maggot_ – now the _Sea Wolf_ (Sparrow claimed the illiterate crew misspelled it, although Susan suspected the crudely painted _She Wolf_ across the ship's stern may have been a deliberate error; Lucy, of course, found it flattering). Lucy and Kraenen would take the _Foxfire_ , and together they would trap the elusive Calormene ship.

What they would do after that, she had no idea. Fortunately, Lucy was more concerned with the immediate plan of divide-and-conquer.

"I don’t like the idea of splitting our forces," Lucy fretted. She had paced the full length of the _Foxfire_ 's deck earlier; now she prowled around their cabin like a caged wolf.

"I may not be a knight of Narnia," Susan snapped, "but I _can_ take care of myself. I can handle Sparrow."

Lucy's eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. "I wasn't talking about Sparrow. I was talking about the Calormenes."

Susan's cheeks grew warm. She cast about for something to say, but Lucy took pity on her and continued without another mention of the erstwhile captain.

"The Calormene ship could outmaneuver either of ours. The _Maggot_ may have… firepower," Lucy pronounced the strange word warily, "but she's practically dead in the water."

"That's why the only chance we have to free those slaves is with both ships working together," insisted Susan.

"But we've no chance at all unless we can find them!" Lucy protested.

There was a peremptory knock at the door and Sparrow entered unbidden. He was swinging his compass like a pendulum. "I think I can solve that little problem." He turned to Susan, adding, "And you can handle me any time you like, love."

Susan refused to give him the satisfaction of blushing any more than she already was. "I doubt a compass will be of much use in finding the Calormenes," she said scornfully, "unless their ship is as badly hobbled as yours."

"You're still using landlubber metaphors," he pointed out. "And this is not any old compass."

"Is it magic?" Lucy leaned forward eagerly.

"Magic? I suppose you could call it that." Sparrow caught the compass in one hand and studied it. "It points to nothing more and nothing less than whatever I want most. I'll find them. You can bet your pretty little crowns on it. But–" he waved a cautionary finger, "we do it _my_ way."

Susan's eyes narrowed. "And what precisely does your way entail, Mister Sparrow?"

"Ah." He folded his arms complacently and leaned against Susan's trunk. "I thought that might come up. Three things – no, four."

Susan raised an eyebrow. Sparrow took that as invitation to continue.

"One – it's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow. No more of this mister business."

"Very well, Captain," agreed Lucy readily. Too readily. Susan barely refrained from sighing in exasperation. Her younger sister had a brilliant military mind, but she was the worst negotiator Susan had ever seen. In the best compromises, everyone lost something. Lucy was too eager to please everyone; when Susan bargained, she lost the least.

Sparrow smirked at her. He had clearly come to the same conclusion about Lucy, for he continued to address himself to the younger Queen. "Two," he said, not bothering to conceal his pleasure at his initial progress, "on my ship, I give the orders."

"Done," said Lucy quickly, before Susan could open her mouth.

Susan clenched her teeth, but she would not give Sparrow the satisfaction of seeing discord between them. She forced herself to smile pleasantly.

It might not have been her best effort; Sparrow swallowed visibly before speaking. "Three," he said, and paused. He paced around the small but luxuriously appointed cabin. "This is a nice rug," he commented idly. "Very cushy. Must feel nice on the feet – do you mind?"

Lucy smiled conspiratorially and wriggled her toes. She always went barefoot whenever she could get away with it. "By all means, Captain, join me! It is delightfully cushy, isn't it?"

Susan eyed Sparrow suspiciously. His non-sequiturs always held some hidden meaning. What was he up to now?

Sparrow kicked off his boots and sighed ostentatiously. "Oh, that _is_ nice."

"Do you want it?" Lucy asked indulgently, but Susan saw the gleam in her eye. It was a nice gambit, Susan had to admit – her sister's negotiation skills might be better than Susan had given her credit for – but she was sure Sparrow would not take the bait.

"That depends on what the meaning of 'it' is, mate, if you take my meaning."

Lucy frowned as she untangled his syntax. "I don't think I do," she confessed.

Susan had a sinking feeling that did follow, and it did not bode well. "No," she said in a flat voice, interrupting another of Sparrow's tangents.

"The tassels are a nice touch, so fringe-y and… did you say no?" Sparrow grinned at her and twirled his compass. "Think again, love."

" _No_."

Lucy looked from Sparrow to Susan. "What does he want?"

"My ship," said Sparrow blithely.

" _This_ ship," corrected Susan with a scowl. "And you shan't have it. This is _our_ ship – not just Lucy's and mine, but Narnia's first ship." She did not have to add that it was their only ship; against her will, her voice had turned pleading.

Sparrow's face softened. "Aye," he said gently. "And I know what that means, love. Believe me. I wouldn't ask if it weren't the only way. Trust me on that, at least." An odd note entered his voice, and Susan had to steel herself against it before replying.

"Trust has nothing to do with it, M– Captain. You are asking for Our ship and promising nothing in return. That _is_ piracy."

Sparrow shook his head sorrowfully. "If piracy were what I had in mind, love, I wouldn't be asking. I'd be taking. But I mean to get you that ship – you call it Calamine? – never mind," he added, flapping a hand at Lucy when she opened her mouth to correct him, " _that_ ship, and free those slaves, and get my trinket. And then I mean to take _that_ ship's crew on your ship – meaning, of course, my ship."

Susan's mouth dropped open. "Why in the blue blazes would you do that?"

"Think about it," he urged. "You can't let that crew go back to Prince Habadasher telling him that they were attacked and their cargo stolen by Narnians. Where would that leave your courtly plans, Your Royalness?"

Susan bit her lip. Tash take it all, but he was right. They couldn't keep the Calormene crew imprisoned. And, technically, what they were contemplating could be considered an act of war. Her blood ran cold at the thought. All her hopes for peace, all her plans for securing a more stable future for Narnia – they were risking _everything_.

But what could they do? There was nothing more abominable than slavery. "We cannot abandon those people," she whispered.

"Certainly not!" said Lucy hotly.

"No," agreed Sparrow, somewhat to Susan's surprise. "But neither can you fly the Narnian flag and capture them with a Narnian ship and send everyone home to start a war." He stroked his moustache. " _If_ , however, your fledgling, inexperienced, lightly armed Narnian crew were to be captured by pirates…" he trailed off suggestively.

Susan's eyes widened. Lucy clapped in delight. "Oh, Captain Sparrow, it's a _wonderful_ plan! The slaves would be freed, Narnia could not be blamed, and the Calormene sailors could return home none the wiser–"

But Sparrow shook his head. "No, lass. Not home. But they'll not be harmed. You have my word on that. Now," he continued briskly, "if that's settled–"

"Would you leave us without a ship, then?" Susan tried to keep her voice even, but Sparrow looked pained.

"Not for my sake," he said softly. "But your pretty little ship would be no match for pirates who could take an armed slave galley. Even if your Prince Bangers and Mash didn't see through that, someone would be sure to put the pieces together. Surely one ship isn't worth the risk of war?"

 Susan blinked. When he put it like that, it sounded so reasonable. But to lose even the temporary freedom of the sea… "It's an awfully high price to pay," she found herself saying bitterly.

"We can build another ship," said Lucy, squeezing Susan's hand. "A better ship, so we won't be taken by pirates." She smiled tremulously. "What do you say, Susan? For Narnia?"

Susan swallowed hard and nodded. "For Narnia," she said decisively. "The ship is yours, Captain Sparrow. What is your fourth item?"

"Eh?"

"Your terms," Susan said in exasperation. "For leading us to the slave ship. You said you had four conditions."

"Oh! Yes. The most important one, really." He smiled at their apprehensive looks. "Rum," he declared. "Lots of rum!" When neither woman spoke, Sparrow began to look worried. "You do have rum? Comes in a bottle, makes your lips numb?"

Lucy began to laugh.

" _That's_ your fourth condition?" Susan almost felt like laughing herself. Was the man actually serious for once?

"Then you do know of it?" Sparrow's plaintive tone was too much for Lucy, who hiccupped and sank against the bulkhead in helpless laughter.

Susan fixed Sparrow with as stern a look as she could summon. "Have we a bargain?"

Sparrow brushed the question aside with a flick of his wrist. "Yes, yes, we're agreed," he said impatiently. "But where is the rum?"

"My dear Captain," said Susan, grinning, "have you tried the hold?"

 

It turned out that Galman rum, according to Sparrow, was the finest specimen of that elixir found anywhere north, south, east or west of someplace called Tortuga. As much as they coveted Narnian wine, the Galmans loved rum more, and they had brought their own supply all the way from Galma.

It was a wonder they'd had any left for the return voyage, really, what with the Dwarves and the Satyrs, not to mention Peter and Edmund. Susan fully expected one of her brothers to have constructed a fully functional distillery by the time she and Lucy returned to Cair Paravel.

After the initial ship-wide jubilation at the revelation of the rum, Susan sought out Sparrow. Despite her fears, he was still conscious and more or less steady on his feet. As much as he ever was, at any rate; Susan wished she could see him walk on land, to judge whether his rolling gait was a byproduct of the waves or the bottle he held clenched in a fist.

"Best bloody rum anywhere sorth, nouth, yeast or…"

"West of Tortuga. Yes, so you've told me." Susan hid her amusement behind a mask of disapproval. "Where precisely is Tortuga?"

"Not here, love. More's the pity." Sparrow squinted at her. "Rum?" He proffered the bottle.

Sparrow clearly expected Susan to disdain the spirit, which really wasn't all that vile after the second or third swallow. When she informed him of that fact while snatching the bottle out of his suddenly limp hand and taking a long swig, she rather thought he might kiss her.

Instead, he solemnly unknotted a string of crude wooden beads from his… accoutrements… and threaded it into Susan's hair before she could protest.

"Just for tonight, love," Sparrow murmured in her ear, "you're the Pirate Queen."

She should not have been so pleased at the prospect. Perhaps she could blame that on the rum, Susan allowed.

He did kiss her, then. She supposed that could – technically – be blamed on the rum as well. Sparrow seemed very keen on technicalities. Standing (technically, slouching) as they were on the poop deck, they were in full view of the crew. Susan really should have been more concerned about that. It surely wasn't proper to brazenly kiss a pirate in front of one's subjects, after all. And yet it would be even _less_ proper to descend the stairs (if either of them was indeed capable of that feat at the moment) and stumble their way to her cabin. Although, _technically_ , her cabin was _his_ , now…

"Stop."

Susan stopped.

"Not _that_ ," Sparrow clarified. "Keep doing _that_ , love. I meant the thinking." He twirled a finger in front of her eyes. "None of that."

Susan giggled. (How much rum had she had? She had rather lost track of the bottle. And her coat. And the time. And…)

"There you go again," Sparrow sighed. "Why ruin a lovely night with thinky things?"

"So distract me," suggested Susan, tickling his ear.

 He did.

Eventually (inevitably), he spoke again. "Come with me, Susan," he whispered. "I'll make you a real Pirate Queen."

For a moment, Susan was almost tempted to say yes, if only to see the look on his face. But she would not promise what she could not give, even in jest.

Before she could answer, Sparrow put a finger across her lips. Taken aback, Susan opened her mouth to say something – she knew not what – and he pressed more firmly, squashing her lips in an awkward pucker.

Really, the man's constant fondling well overstepped the bounds of propriety. Not to mention hygiene. And furthermore–

"'M sorry," she mumbled around his fingers, and paused. That was not at all what she meant to say.

"I know," Sparrow whispered, and leaned in.

And then he was kissing her again, and all sensible thought keeled over and languished on a mental sandbar. She had been entirely too long at sea, Susan thought distantly, if it was invading even her inner monologue and metaphors.

Sparrow lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck. "Take what you can, while you can," he told her solemnly. "Pirate's Code."

Susan stiffened. His words echoed too strongly of goodbye. Why would he say such a thing, when they hadn't even reached the Calormene ship yet…? _By the Lion's mane_. Suddenly she understood his plan, all his underhanded scheming and maneuvering.

"You're taking the Calormene crew back to your world," Susan stated, her voice hollow.

"It's the only safe place, love."

"To the devil with _safe_ ," she hissed.

Sparrow's mouth twitched. "Careful, there. That's unseemly language for a queen. I fear I've had a bad influence on you. History will remember me as the man who almost corrupted the Gentle– mmph."

Susan clamped her hand over his mouth. "By the Lion, don't you _ever_ stop talking? Tell me the truth, Jack, for once. Safe for whom?"

"Mmfh urmph mm ungh."

Susan rolled her eyes and removed her hand. "Safe for whom?" she repeated.

"For you, of course. Why the devil else would I go through so much bloody trouble?" Belying his rough words, his hands were tender as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Is that part of the Code?" she managed.

Sparrow scoffed. "Hardly."

"Then why…?"

His dark eyes held hers. "I have my own code, love. And I mean to keep to it."

Susan had always prided herself on her ability to find the right words for any occasion. But both words and her voice failed her in that moment. She looked helplessly at Sparrow.

"You're determined to chase after that Rabid fellow, aren't you?"

Susan blinked back tears. "Not for my sake, Jack. But I too have my own code, and those I wish to keep safe."

"I can't argue with that, love. But promise me something." Sparrow's fingers brushed her cheek. "Promise me that, if you do go to Tashbaan, you'll take your own ship."

_That_ she could answer. "I do not have a ship anymore. Thanks to you." She meant to sound acerbic, but from the tender look on Sparrow's face she feared she hadn't quite succeeded.

"Build one. A better one," he suggested, taking her hand and pulling her close. "Don't go to that forsaken place without a fast ship in which to leave it. Swear to me, Susan."

It was the use of her name, rather than a witticism or endearment, that convinced her that Sparrow was in deadly earnest. "I promise."

 

Later, they gathered in Sparrow's cabin for a council of war. Susan had to admit it looked well: less regal than when it had been hers and Lucy's, more fitting as a proper captain's quarters. But honestly, between the siren attack, the mutiny and restoration of his post and their blind high seas chase, where had the man found the time to redecorate?

Lucy toyed with a mobile, idly spinning a series of golden discs in orbit around each other. "Is this treasure?" she asked in fascination.

Sparrow smiled. "Of a sort. That's my world," he said, pointing to one disc encrusted with sapphires and emeralds.

"And you say it's a round world?" Lucy breathed in delight. "How I would love to see it someday!"

Sparrow's eyes sought Susan's. She turned away, troubled. _London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down…_ Still the sirens' strains troubled her sleep. Whatever or wherever London was, Susan harbored a growing certainty that it was part of a round world. A world that she and her siblings knew only as Spare Oom.

"We have quite enough to deal with here and now," she snapped. At the hurt look on her sister's face, Susan immediately regretted her harsh tone. "We'll have plenty of time for Captain Sparrow's tall tales when the task at hand is done," she said more softly.

Before Lucy could reply, a clatter of hooves heralded the imminent arrival of Burl, who had taken entirely too enthusiastically to the pirates' company.

"What news, oh hirsute First Goat?" asked Sparrow.

One of Sparrow's own crewmen, a squat little bald man, butted in front of the Satyr to speak first. "Sail ho, Cap'n."

"What?" Sparrow lurched to his feet.

"Damned if I know how they got around back of us – er, sorry, ma'rm. I mean Captain. Sir?"

Sparrow's jaw dropped. "You made the men stop swearing?" he demanded, looking at Susan.

Susan sniffed. "I didn't _make_ them do anything. _I_ am not a tyrant."

Sparrow stared at her a moment before tossing his head back and laughing until he shook. "Should've hired me a lady first mate years ago. How's about you take the job, love? I'll give you… twelve percent of the booty." The crewman looked at him, scandalized. "Er, loot."

"You only offered me six percent!" reproached Burl.

"Never mind that," cried Lucy. "Is it the Calormene ship?"

"Aye," said Sparrow, peering out the window. "There's no mistaking those sails."

"Well, let's get to work," said Susan with a heavy heart. Once the ship was captured, assuming they weren't all killed or captured themselves in the process, her journey at sea would end. Foe or ally, Rabadash and the desert loomed before her.

Sparrow glanced at her in concern, but only hesitated a moment. "Run out the guns," he ordered. "Lucy, get to the _She Wolf–_ I mean, the _Sea Wolf_. Run roughshod over Kraenen. I think he likes it."

Lucy glanced at Susan, who nodded. Only then did the younger queen dash out the door.

"Once more into the breach?" asked Sparrow.

"Stop quoting from books I have never read," snapped Susan.

Sparrow gave Susan another odd look – but then, all his looks were odd. "What would you have me say, then?"

He was never given time to say it. A deafening boom from the _Sea Wolf_ shattered the momentary silence. Sparrow was up the ladder and on deck, with Susan close on his heels, before the echoes died away.

Years later, Susan would recall the battle as a confusion of smoke, flame and shouting. It was over quickly; the pirates' unknown weapons crippled the unprepared _Ilsombreh_ before the Calormenes could mount much resistance. Lucy spearheaded the rescue of the slaves from the sinking ship, where they had been chained belowdecks. Susan simmered with rage at the thought, but she dared not leave Sparrow alone with the Calormene captain.

He held too many of her secrets, now.

The Calormene captain shook with outrage. "The exalted Tisroc, may he live forever, will see your head on a stake if he must hunt you for a thousand thousand burning suns--"

Sparrow interrupted him mid-threat. "Not many people live forever these days, mate. I doubt your Tisroc is one of them."

The captain's beard quivered at the insult. "I will feed your slanderous heart to the vultures, eaters of that which is rotten, and then I will--"

"Somebody gag him," said Sparrow with a roll of his eyes.

Sendaar took to the task enthusiastically.

"Captain... Oops. I forgot to ask your name. No, don't undo the gag. Marvelous job. Lad should have been a weaver," he commented to the increasingly livid Calormene captain, whose mouth and chin were now wrapped in the remains of Lucy's horrendously orange waistcoat. "Great eye for color, and very- er- thorough, wouldn't you say?"

Sparrow rubbed his hands together briskly. "Now, Captain Whatever-your-name-is, as you have undoubtedly surmised, I am taking your… cargo." A shadow of distaste crossed his face. "I also intend to take your crew, including your less-than-humble self. Any questions? Excellent. Anyone for lunch? A good battle always leaves me famished."

He swaggered away, leaving the bewildered Calormene captain in his wake. Susan knew he was off to search the captain's quarters for whatever artifact he needed. And how she wished he would tell her _that_ story…

"Victory!" cried Seafret, spiraling overhead. "Freedom!"

The Gull's words churned in Susan's mind. _Freedom_. Not hers, no – but how could she place her own happiness above the lives of others? No, her course was set, and she would not waver from it.

Which only made the parting to come even harder to bear.

 

Sparrow marooned them on a very pleasant beach. The Albatross was already winging his way to Galma to summon their rescuers (and oh, how that rankled!). Burl had to be forcibly restrained from remaining with the pirates; Sparrow's arguments that there were no other Satyrs in his round world held no water until Susan added that there would be no Nymphs, either.

And then there was nothing left to do but say farewell. Susan and Sparrow walked along the cove until the shore turned rocky and the others were out of sight.

"Don't look so worried, Mister Wolffe," joked Sparrow weakly. "I've been marooned before, you know. It's not that bad, as long as the rum holds out. And you'll have rescuers here in no time," he prattled on, clumsily patting Susan's shoulder. "Probably a pod of talking dolphins, or a flotilla of sea turtles. Hey, that's something -- you could lash them together with rope and make a raft, and--"

"What rope?" interrupted Susan, fighting back a smile. Odd, how someone who spoke so much nonsense could always know the right thing to say.

"You could weave it from... wolf fur? Hair from the First Goat's back? Pity Lucy chopped her hair off, that might have made a lovely rope."

"Jack," said Susan, "stop talking."

"Anything you say, love."

"I mean now." Why did everything they said to each other devolve into bickering? Frustrated with herself, she tried again. "I will not wish you smooth sailing," Susan told him, striving to keep her voice light, "because you will insist on chasing after storms."

Sparrow grinned, unrepentant. "A calm sea is like a tame Lion. We love them more for their wildness."

Susan ducked her head, suddenly ashamed that he could so clearly read her thoughts by her countenance. "I am not wild, Jack. Nor am I caged. This is the life I choose."

The weight of his silence bore down upon her like a wave. Then he pulled her roughly to himself, and Susan gasped into his mouth as if hungry for air. She let herself lean into him, reveling in the way his fingers deftly unbound her hair, the way the wind whipped and tangled her soft locks around his sea-chapped hands. When the wind died, the storm within her breast abated, and Susan found she could breathe again.

She took a step backward, out of his arms, and already the small distance between them felt like loss. She straightened, grasped for her resolve, and found her voice.

"I wish you fair winds, Jack," she said formally.

"Keep a weather eye on the horizon, lass." Sparrow's calloused fingers brushed her cheek. "And if you ever find yourself in a round world, meet me by the sea. I'll find you there, Susan." He tapped his compass meaningfully.

Susan's eyes widened. "Impertinent," she said without thinking.

His grin widened. "Aye. And impudent. Likely a few other things, too. Impolite, impetuous, impishly handsome–"

"Impossible," Susan broke in, her own smile threatening to break free.

"Impossibly handsome?"

"Impaired," teased Susan.

Sparrow wagged a finger at her. "Don't you dare say _impotent_. I won't stand for slander, love, not even from you." Then his mood, ever changeable as the wind, shifted, and his voice grew wistful. "Impractical," he said, and Susan's stomach clenched.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. The pang in her heart stifled any other words that might have come.

"That's not very alliterative."

She stared at a fixed point on the horizon, willing back the tears that threatened. "The wind stings," she lied weakly. He had always seen through her lies, from the very beginning.

"That it does, love." Sparrow hesitated, and Susan found herself trying to memorize him – not his face, but his presence, the way he swayed with a wind she could barely feel, as if responding to the motions of another ship, another world. The way he leaned unconsciously seaward. The restless movement of his hands without a helm to caress…

 "Do you trust me?"

His words were oddly clear, his voice uncommonly tentative.

Susan summoned a smile. "Implicitly."

Sparrow smiled back at her, for once with no trace of mockery. "Close your eyes," he murmured, his words once more running together like the waves mingling underfoot. He kissed her for the last time, and Susan knew the salt she tasted on her lips was not from the sea but from her own traitorous tears.

"Fair winds," he whispered in her ear, "and farewell, my Pirate Queen."

She did not watch him leave. She stood on the beach, eyes closed, hair tumbling in the wind, her face turned to the sun and the spray.

This much she would allow herself: one last morning beside the sea before she began her journey into the desert.

When she finally heard the cry of _weigh anchor_ , Susan opened her eyes – and gasped. The air beyond the ships shimmered in a hazy doorway. Incredibly, impossibly, the horizon _curved_.

So Jack had found his round world after all.

 

_Hello love,_

_You always accuse me of taking liberties, so I took one more. I drew up plans for a new ship – a fast ship. I chose a bird, just like I told you, because beautiful things can be brave and clever, too. Just pick a better name this time._

_Remember, if you ever find yourself on a round world, look for me by the sea. Time between worlds is… bendy. Wherever you are, I'll find you._

 

A year later, Queen Susan of Narnia set sail for Tashbaan, secure in the knowledge that no ship could outrun the _Splendor Hyaline_. The graceful ship cut through the water like the swan she resembled, her carved wings glinting in the spray.

With such a ship, Susan knew, she could get close enough to Rabadash to ascertain his true intentions – and then have the speed to escape him, if necessary. With such a ship, she could both serve her country and win her own freedom.

And someday, with such a ship, perhaps she could sail towards a curved horizon.


End file.
